Being Mutt Williams
by Starry Lites
Summary: Meeting Indiana Jones meant a completely new life for Mutt...with new challenges and a need to prove himself. This is a first person account of his struggles and lessons upon returning to school. Note: obviously KOTCS spoilers, so read at your own risk!
1. Prologue

Can I just say that life as Henry Jones III is a whole lot harder than life as Mutt Williams? First of all, just look at the names. Okay, Henry Jones III. Let's be honest, that looks like a guy who walks around always dressed in suits with his hair slicked back. Right? Am I right? He's also at least sixty years old. Mutt Williams? Well, he rides a motorcycle, dropped out of school, does whatever he wants, picks and chooses the books he reads.

I know what you're thinking. I'm complaining. Actually, I'm not. I'm just pointing out that my two names really don't have a whole lot to do with each other, and I am struggling to find a happy medium. I'm looking for the Mutt Jones, if you will.

The first stop on the road to becoming Mutt Jones was to finish school. This initial goal was picked for me, and I can't really blame the old man for choosing it. What else would the associate dean of a college expect of his newly-discovered son? Besides, I finished school in the short time span of only four months. Again, when your tutor is an associate dean who can't stand the fact that his nineteen year old son does not have a high school diploma, you have no choice but to move rather quickly.

But Dad's words kept me motivated: once I hit college, I could take the classes I wanted to, and therefore read what I wanted to. This was a lie, of course. So far general education has been every bit as horrible as prep school was, but he seems to think I have enough patience to put up with it.

I've developed another problem, however. You see, those few days we spent together on that little excursion before we found Mom taught me that archaeology is incredibly cool. Cliché to love what the old man and the gramps loved, but hey, sometimes it just works out that way. You see where this is going though, don't you? Who teaches Intro to Archaeology at Marshall College? Yeah, so guess what happens every day at the dinner table?

"Mutt, have you finished your reading yet?"

"Oh yeah, sure, it was great reading."

"What did you think of the --" Well, from here, you can insert whatever you like, but whatever it is, it's something in far too much detail for me to have actually remembered. These conversations generally lead into a lecture on better reading comprehension, followed by Dad pulling some artifact or another out of a hidden closet I hadn't noticed before, finished off with a reminder that archaeology doesn't happen in the library. Well if archeology doesn't happen in the library, why does he expect me to remember the odd little details that I learn in the library?

Mom's answer for this is very unhelpful. "He remembers all those odd little details, so therefore he expects you to remember them, too. That's what finally brought he and your grandfather back together; they each remembered different odd little details and therefore could work together. Assuming they trusted what each other was saying."

In these talks I always want to point out to her that if I recall the odd little details Dad wants me to recall, I will be remembering Dad's details and not my own. But I never tell her; I know I'd get absolutely no sympathy.

But I'm just griping, you know. To be honest, I like my life as a Jones. In fact, now that I know more about the family and what I was born into, I'm awfully proud to be a Jones Boy. Mom keeps apologizing for not telling me the truth a long time ago, and as angry as it made me at the time, I don't think I would've liked Dad as much at first had I known he was my father. I liked him because he was a friend of Mom's that could be trusted. Were he my father who ran off just before the wedding, that probably would not have been the case. That aside, the more I think about being the son of Indiana Jones, the more I love the sound of it.

As long as he doesn't call me Junior.


	2. Field Study

I am happy to report that I am now in my second semester at Marshall College. This means that I have survived the Introduction to Archaeology class taught by Dr. Henry Jones, Jr. Dad's class sucked. That wasn't Dad's fault, mind you. Actually, I was always thoroughly entertained, loved the lectures (assuming he hadn't told it all to me the night before) and learned a lot from him. I'll give him that, even if he was a pain when it came to homework.

No, my problem came from my fellow class members. See, although there are very few female archaeologists in the world, there seems to be a ten to one ratio of girls in his class. A couple of them confided in me that they found Dad to be perfectly dreamy, and I had chills for a good couple of hours after that. That's just sick, you know? Do they have any idea how old he is?

Well, apparently they figured it out. It was about three weeks into the semester that I started to have a problem that was a whole lot more difficult than meeting Dad's reading comprehension requirements. All the sudden it seemed to dawn on every one of the girls that the Henry Jones on the class role just might be related to the professor.

Dad, being the kind and loving father that he is, did not help. One day after class one of the girls walked up to him, to give him an apple (yeah, don't ask), and she asked about me and if I was his son. I wanted to hide in a corner, but the room having its raised desks the way it did, there was no good corner to hide in. So I stood there dumbly, and Dad sent me that crooked smile of his, and then told this girl that I was in fact in his son. She squealed and the next day I had twenty apples on my desk. I also lost all respect from the other two guys in the class with me.

But that's history, you know? Only three of those girls are moving on to our Research and Field Study Fundamentals class. We cap at twenty, and I'm hoping that most of the students from Dad's other sections will also be boys. With any luck, I'll have a chance to gain some kind of dignity back. Besides, the Ox is teaching as a visiting professor, what could possibly go wrong?

Everything.

The first day of classes were fine. Syllabus day is the perfect day to scout out the class, look around the room, and generally not pay attention at all. Of course, I got chewed out by Ox for not really paying attention to him, but that's to be expected, and after I bought him lunch, we were fine.

Second day of classes, on the other hand, was a nightmare. Ox had been going over archaeological dig etiquette and then he looked straight at me, not saying anything until I looked at him first. "Mr. Jones?"

I smiled, being a little too cocky with my posture. "Yes, Dr. Oxley?"

"Why don't you share with us your mistreatment of an ancient graveyard in South America. You retrieved a skull from a burial chamber, am I correct?" I was expecting him to smile, but he didn't, and in the meantime, I had had every face turn around and stare at me.

What did he expect me to say? _Yes, Dr. Oxley, I mistreated a piece of crystal and a corpse you had already split open?_ I cleared my throat and nodded. "Well, I suppose it could be called mistreatment, but we were looking for something specific, found it, and left with it."

"Ah, so you were grave-robbing?"

"Uh, no, not really. Well, _technically_ if you want to get nasty about it --"

"But you were caught afterwards, weren't you?"

"Well, yeah, by the Soviets."

Ox started to pace in front of class, nodding his head lightly. The class followed his movements, every so often turning around to look at me. The lecture hall echoed with his heavy footsteps and I had a difficult time staying in my seat. Why had he done that? He knew who was first to dig up that grave, he knew that it was us getting captured that saved him and Mom...so what was he so upset about, and why was he deliberately picking on me? It's not like anyone in the room understood our connection to each other, so they surely weren't expecting him to play favorites.

After a long pause, Ox finally looked back at the rest of class with an odd grin across his face. "This ridicule against young Mutt here was to make a point. Those of you who worship Dr. Jones for his good looks and charisma need to understand that he rarely goes through the proper protocol at a site. There are many rumors about the artifacts that Dr. Jones finds and how he gets them, and I would suggest that you believe most of them, but do not assume that archaeology works that way. This class is meant to teach you how to properly excavate, not how to grave-rob. And it is certainly not about teaching you how to look for items that probably don't exist."

I raised my hand to say something, but Ox ignored me and continued on with the rest of the lecture. After he had adequately drilled rule number one of archaeological excavation into our heads -- "Do not remove anything from the site without express permission to do so" -- the class filed out, a few making sure to bash into me on their way out of the door. Once the room was clear, I walked up to Ox and leaned against his desk. "What was that for?"

"What was what for, Mutt?" he asked, in a perfect deadpan.

I sighed. "What was the humiliation for? I already wasn't liked by the guys, but now they're not going to like me that much more."

Ox stared at me for a moment, then nodded and turned away to start cleaning up his lecture notes. "I was doing you a favor."

"A favor? What kind of favor do you call that? That really was no favor. That's going to make this class that much harder for me."

"No, actually, I don't think so." Ox stashed his notes back into a file and pushed it up under his arm. "Actually, I think you'll find that it will be a lot easier from now on."

"Not convinced."

"Walk with me." Ox put an arm around my shoulder and steered me out of the classroom and in the direction of his office. We got a couple of stares, those kind of stares that people give you when they want to know how you got in so well with the professor so quickly; I was still a freshman, after all. "Mutt, listen to me, without getting defensive if that's possible. Because you had to go through your father's class before anyone else, you had a disadvantage to get through. Everyone met you as Dr. Jones' son. You've got to get beyond that and be Mutt, or Henry Jones, or whatever you want to be."

"Not Henry Jones," I answered quickly. I fought off a shiver at hearing my real name.

Ox rolled his eyes and then looked at me above his glasses. "You and your father...but my point is -- well, my point is your classmates were forcing you to ride on your father's coattails, and I just eliminated that. As soon as you start performing well in classes, they won't even remember what happened today.

We stopped outside of his office, which happened to be right next to Dad's. He was in his office, yelling at someone on the phone, his shadow cast against the frosted glass door from the afternoon sun. Ox moved out in front of me and put his hands tightly on my shoulders. The look he gave me was filled with love, that love he had given me all those years when I didn't have a father. Dad slammed the phone back down and tore his glasses off, still oblivious to our presence.

Ox and I both cast a quick glance at his door, and then Ox fixed me with a heavy gaze. "You don't have to be his shadow. And I don't want you to be. Work at it, and I promise, today will have been more than worth it." With that, he gave me a slight grin and ducked into his office.

My eyes turned back to Dad's office door, gazing at the still fresh lettering: "Dr. Henry Jones, Jr. Associate Dean." Everyone knew Dad would eventually make Dean, and that made what Ox said all the more important. I couldn't ride in Dad's shadow. That was the one advantage Dad had that I didn't. He had grown away from his father, so he had found his own way without any help. I, on the other hand, found him, and though we still aren't getting along perfectly, I'm not about to just throw it out the window, either.

Dad came out of his office and pulled his hat on, stopping for a moment to stare at me and raise an eyebrow, as if asking, "What are you doing here?"

I smiled at him. "Came up here with Ox. I was just taking my time to find something else to do."

Dad nodded at me a bit, and straightened his hat. "Well, do you know what else you're going to do?"

I shook my head. "Not yet, no."

Dad sent me a grin and then nodded down the hallway. "Then I suggest we just go home. You ready?"

I nodded and fixed my bag on my shoulder. "Sure, Pops."


End file.
